


A Game of Circles: Season 6

by Mendeia



Series: A Game of Circles [6]
Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: But they're still spies so there are many secrets, By which I mean a tag for literally every episode, Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, Epistolary (sometimes), Family Feels, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 16,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22444852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendeia/pseuds/Mendeia
Summary: Conversation is a game of circles. – Ralph Waldo EmersonIn every episode of NCIS:LA, there is an unseen moment, a hidden exchange between a spymaster and her finest student. As handler and agent, or protector and orphan, or, sometimes, defenders of one another even when the other would *really rather they not, thanks,* Hetty and Callen have a relationship worth uncovering. Updated weekly, tag for every single episode of season 6.
Relationships: G Callen & Hetty Lange
Series: A Game of Circles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1242131
Comments: 36
Kudos: 25





	1. S6E1: Deep Trouble, Part 2

Callen was surprised when Hetty sent Nell to check him and Sam for injuries instead of coming herself. Nell was competent, of course, but there was only one non-doctor he would ever really trust to assess him — the same person who had once dug a bullet out of Sam's leg while he was undercover.

After the appallingly chosen drinks were downed — and of course G drank because who wouldn't drink a depth charge right after surviving one? — he made his way back to the office. To keep in practice while waiting for Granger to leave, he did a full perimeter sweep, looking for weaknesses, sight-lines, vulnerabilities. Even after six years, there was always a chance something had been missed. By the time he finished, Granger was leaving and Hetty was alone.

He waited just long enough to make sure Granger didn't spot him heading back in before he slipped into the familiar building and followed the only light still on to Hetty's desk.

Hetty held out a bottle of water.

G raised an eyebrow. "What, so Granger gets the good stuff and I don't?"

She shook her head at him. "After what you've been through, and what you've already consumed with your team in the boatshed, I think water is a wise choice. Don't you?"

He shrugged and slid into place. "So. Komodo, huh?"

"Only you would so blithely ignore the fact of your very near death today."

Callen caught an edge in her words and looked more closely. She looked shaken.

"Hetty...I'm sorry. And, believe me, I know how close it was."

"Yes," she said, and the word had weight, "I believe you do."

"And it really wasn't anything we could have prevented. It was just...part of the job."

"No, I know that." She let out a breath. "How many times are we going to do this dance, Mister Callen? How many times will I stand up there in Ops praying that you will live to see another sunrise?"

Callen swallowed, but he didn't back down. "Until the job is over."

And it was the right answer, the only answer, and he hated the grief it gave her.

She nodded and sipped at her own drink for a moment.

"Komodo," she said finally. "Owen said you accosted him?"

She wasn't all right yet, but he could tell she needed this to be normal and he would gladly give her that much. "I wouldn't say accosted. Maybe...prodded."

That won him a sliver of a smile. "Indeed."

"He didn't really tell us anything."

"So far," she said, "there's not much to tell. I've been recalled to Washington to account for my behavior."

G sat forward in his chair. "What are they looking for?"

"I'm not sure, honestly, but I am relatively certain the White Ghost will haunt me while I'm there. Figuratively, of course."

"They're calling you out for saving Kensi?"

"Oh, probably." She waved a hand, settling back into her normal posture. "I've ruffled a lot of feathers in my time, Mister Callen. And chickens do eventually come home to roost, if you'll forgive the mixed metaphor."

He shook his head. "It's not right. It's not fair."

"Likely not. But it is also, as you said, part of the job."

There was a twitch like a miniature flinch, one even he almost missed. But it told him enough to look more closely until he could trace the threads of her thoughts. He could see them in her eyes. If he and Sam hadn't made it back, she would have gone to Washington to resign.

"How long will you be gone?" he asked, because he couldn't insult her now by making sure she intended to come back.

"Honestly, I've no idea. You know how our government is. They could draw it out for months if they wished." She held up a hand even as he was opening his mouth. "And, no. You cannot come with me. There is a case which needs your urgent attention, and which you must begin at once. It will take weeks to get you and Mister Hanna in place and we cannot afford any delays."

He sighed. "You'll be all right?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine." Then, from the folds of her expression came a smirk, like a set of hidden fangs. "I may choose not to play the game of politics, but, I assure you, it is one I can still win handily when necessary."

G smiled back. "Well, if you need tactical support…"

"Do not even consider interrupting any testimony I am forced to give, or, as I told Mister Beale only this afternoon, you will regret it long after your wounds have healed."

He laughed. "Someday you're really going to scare Eric to death."

"I hope not. I've put too much time into breaking him in."

Callen snorted. "In all seriousness, though, you will contact us if you need something?"

"I have my contingencies in play as usual," she said. Which told Callen that she had more than one plan, and at least one of them involved Nell because Nell was Hetty's favorite contingency. It had never bothered him that she put her trust in the analyst instead of himself — Nell thought like Hetty in some ways, and needed the training besides. When Hetty needed someone not to _think_ , but to simply _know_ , he would be there.

Still, he wasn't comfortable with this particular summons. He didn't like her going alone, didn't like her being interviewed or testifying or whatever she was going to do, and he especially didn't like that she had no clear idea what they would be looking for. The uncertainty, and the arbitrariness of it, put him on his guard.

"You're not...they won't reassign you, will they?" he found himself asking.

"I think not, but one never can tell." She must have seen something in his face because she gave him a smile, a real one. "Fear not, Mister Callen. I shall haunt this office long after the politicians think I should be out of the game. No matter what happens in Washington, my work and my home will always be here."

She left the "with you" unspoken, but he heard it anyway.


	2. S6E2: Inelegant Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing last week – I actually had it in my plan because I was at a convention, but I forgot to warn you ahead! Anyway, here are the next two episodes in this sequence of Hetty in LA while bad guys (ahem) break into her houses and threaten her team. This arc is one of my favorites just because of all the holes it let me fill in!
> 
> Enjoy!

Callen wasn't sleeping. He paced his floors in the dark, moving soundlessly, never holding still and never passing over the same floorboards more than once.

Someone had bought Hetty's personal information.

Hetty was in Washington, alone, unprotected.

And he was still in LA, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Of course, if Hetty had been in LA, Callen would have been guarding her himself, and no orders, no government, no power on earth would have prevented him. It was only because she was in Washington that he was holding position for now.

The information that had been bought was personal — at least one of Hetty's residences. But it was bought some time before she flew out to Washington to be interrogated or whatever those political idiots thought they were doing to her. If someone was after Hetty now, right this instant, they wouldn't be in LA at all if they knew her whereabouts.

So whoever had bought the information _didn't_ know Hetty's whereabouts.

They might be waiting in ambush, or preparing a strike for later. But right now, the safest place for Hetty was all the way across the country in the mire that was Washington.

That made it a waiting game.

Callen could have gone to her houses, checked them for surveillance or worse, but that would mean revealing his own hand. Right now, whoever was hunting Hetty probably didn't know he was onto them. If he lost that tiny tactical advantage, it might cost him more than he could pay.

But with Hetty gone dark in Washington, having left behind anything that could make her easy to trace or that could give away information to the politicians and bureaucrats, he couldn't even reach out to her.

Spending a couple of weeks in prison didn't feel nearly as cut off as he did right now knowing he couldn't reach her when it actually mattered.

G's thoughts wound around and around, imagining every possible angle, every possible threat, every possible danger, until it was well past midnight.

Then his phone rang.

He picked it up, squinting at the screen in the darkness. The caller was blocked.

He drew in a breath. 'Blocked' could mean a lot of things.

Affecting the voice of a man woken from a sound sleep, he answered, deliberately huffing into the phone before letting out a sleepy, "Yeah?"

"Nice act, Callen."

He blinked. He recognized that woman's voice, but he couldn't place it.

"Who is this?"

"There will be people who come into your life. And you'll know you're safe when you're with them."

He stopped, frozen on the edge of fury at familiar words from the first night at home in his life. "How do you know that?"

"Is that really a question for your cousin?" returned the voice, clearly amused.

Cousin.

He had no family, but he had Hetty. He'd talked about her other children like himself before, called them 'cousins.' And there was only one currently alive whom he had ever met and known about it.

Grace Stevens.

"It's late," he complained. That was an opening, pitched to be friendly and familiar, without giving away any names or secret information. After all, there was no way to know who might be listening to either one of them.

"Tough." And he could hear the approval in her tone. "I'm calling in a favor."

"Not sure I owe you one."

"Well, you owe _somebody_."

Yeah, that got his attention.

"What do you need?"

"An old-school ball player."

There were a lot of ways that line could be interpreted, but G understood it regardless. Hetty was a basketball fan, and especially in the early days of training him — and apparently Grace Stevens — had used basketball as an analogy for tradecraft many times.

Specifically when it came to passing information, or moving players around the court.

He lowered his voice. "I know a couple of good power forwards."

"Do they play for a team worth their colors?"

He mentally translated that: _Are they trustworthy?_ "They can go a few sets of round robin if that's what you need."

"Good." He could hear the touch of relief in her voice. "Watch for an email. I'll need their stats."

"Understood."

He hung up, knowing there was nothing else to say.

Grace Stevens had called him. Grace Stevens was looking for contacts, trustworthy contacts. And she had come to him to get them.

Which meant she couldn't use her own. And Hetty couldn't use hers, either.

Which probably meant Hetty needed backup, backup no one could know about, no one could trace easily. And neither of them were able to ask for that backup directly. And if they were looking for backup in the form of tradecraft, then this wasn't a politics game anymore.

His gut went tight.

He stared at the phone in his hand.

"Hetty, what is going on?"


	3. S6E3: Praesidium

Hetty breathed in relief when Nell confirmed she and the others were safe after the shootout at Dovecote. She would have felt far better if she could have spoken to them all — if she could have seen them on one of the screens in Ops, could have confirmed for herself that they were unharmed.

But Leon was keeping her on a very tight leash. He'd permitted the call to Miss Jones on a secured line only after she threatened to expose that little adventure he thought she didn't know about down in Paraguay. Leon let her speak to Nell twice, once during the shooting and once afterwards, but that was it. Then she was escorted to a secure location for the night with a half-dozen agents who were so professional and cold, they might have been robots.

_Oh, I must be missing Los Angeles if I am starting to think like Mister Beale._

Hetty shook herself.

_This is not the time to indulge in such fanciful ponderings. There is too much to do._

She would probably need a full day to turn those agents of Leon's, but when they did turn to her service instead of his, it would be complete. Leon never had quite the same talent for getting his hooks into people as she did. It would give her something to do, anyway, besides pacing in the small bedroom she'd been allotted and counting the changes of the watch.

Other than worry.

And grieve.

_Oh, Duke._

The only bright spot in the loss of such an old and loyal friend was the fact that Duke had always kept very much to himself. Even Mister Callen knew him casually at best. They had crossed paths many times, but never moved beyond cordial to friendly. It was in both of their natures to be suspicious and standoffish.

Except with her, of course.

That was one of the common threads amongst the people Hetty trusted most in the world, she supposed. Those who survived in their world of secrets and danger tended to be loners, unwilling to forge connections or build much in the way of rapport. It was what made them good at their jobs, but like any good rule, there would always be exceptions.

Hetty knew herself to be that exception for many of her allies.

She smiled to herself at how neatly Grace had arranged some trustworthy individuals to help her escape from her hearing. Those people had come to Grace by way of Agent Callen, she was certain. She could read it in their very mannerisms. She also knew that agents of this quality meant her boy had called in some major favors to get them to take this on.

Whatever was happening in Los Angeles, the fact that G Callen had called in such favors meant he was badly worried.

And that was reason enough for her to be even more concerned.

First the breach at Dovecote, now the possibility of a mole. If trouble truly did decide to arrive, as it often did, in threes, the third would be worse.

She needed to start working on an exit strategy. Turning one of Leon's agents would get her a means back to Los Angeles, but it would take more than that to get out of the hearings and make her flight.

Her team, as Leon said, was largely unstoppable, could stand against any threat — but she did not want them to have to stand alone.

They were her team. This trouble was hers, and one man was already dead. And now, even from the opposite coast, she knew that her team would be doing everything possible, and several things which were more than reckless, all in an attempt to protect her.

Her team was in danger, and the storm on the horizon was getting darker all the time.

She needed to be there to keep her family safe in return, no matter what.


	4. S6E4: The 3rd Choir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,
> 
> I am so sorry for the delay. Life has been WEIRD. On the plus side, I managed to quit my old job with my less-than-stellar boss and got a new one which I start next Monday! But that, plus the current state of illness in the world has been taking just about all of my attention.
> 
> So, here are these 2 chapters, and then I'll take off a couple of weeks to acclimate to the new job and then I'll go back to posting regularly, I promise.
> 
> This episode is absolutely, positively one of my favorites. Opening with Callen putting out a bounty on Matthias to protect Hetty, and it only goes from there? Oh, heck yeah. So I hope I did it justice!
> 
> Enjoy!

G couldn't have stayed away even if it cost him his life. Not when Hetty had walked out onto the floor to that man. Not when he hadn't been sure he would get to her before Matthias did. Not when Duke was dead and her homes were compromised and Matthias had actually _been in Ops_. Had actually _stood in their office_ and _dared point a gun at Hetty_.

If Hetty hadn't shot that bastard herself, he would absolutely have done it. And in an even worse spot than she chose. Far more painful, at least.

Hetty must have seen something in his expression — he knew he wasn't controlling his face now with his heart pounding and his blood singing and his nerves wound tight. He hadn't slept while he'd roamed the city to come up with the bounty, and he hadn't eaten except when forced by Sam because food tasted like sand while Matthias was hunting her. His whole being had become a live wire, a living weapon with one target and one objective.

She must have recognized it in him, because she had quickly manipulated matters accordingly.

Granger started making noises about needing to debrief, and Hetty shut him down.

"I'm tired, I'm bruised, and I've been in vile company — and that's not counting the time spent in Washington," she had said. "I am going home."

"You can't," Nell had said. "Hetty, your personal information…"

"I know." She'd raised a hand. "But not all of it was leaked, and I have a few tricks left up my sleeve."

And she had turned to him, eyes flashing a silent message.

He was moving before he even realized he'd understood. "I'll get her someplace safe," he promised.

A lot of glances were exchanged, fond smiles and exasperated frowns hidden, but in the end, that's what Granger agreed to. He and Nate opted to brief the Director while Sam coordinated with the ambulance for the DOJ investigator and Kensi and Deeks handled Matthias.

Callen hadn't actually decided if he was going to kill Matthias anyway. He was still thinking about it. But that could wait. For now, the only thing that mattered was collecting Hetty and taking her to one of their safe houses, watching every instant for anyone who might pose a threat or be tracking them. Matthias was a slippery bastard, and there was every chance he had a few more contingency plans waiting.

G couldn't help the idle thought that he wouldn't mind if Matthias had sent one more round of goons, though. It would give him the chance to hurt someone, and after the last few days, he really, really wanted to take it out on someone deserving of his rage.

But no one followed their car, and no one followed them on foot through the network of blind spots that led to the tiny, thankfully un-compromised safe house. It wasn't an NCIS location — it was one Hetty and Callen both knew and had used a time or two in the past. It wasn't someplace Hetty normally stayed, but it was stocked with the basic provisions just in case. And it had tea.

As if any safe house Hetty knew about wouldn't have tea.

They didn't exchange so much as a word until both were settled in threadbare armchairs in the small living room with their mugs of tea.

Only when she was sitting across from him, shoes off and feet tucked under her, only when he could take his gun from its place at his back where he could draw it quicker than the eye could track and set it on the table instead — only then did he clear his throat.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

He swallowed. "I thought about checking each of your houses when we first found out they had your information. If I had, I could have saved Duke."

"Or you could have ended up lying beside him." She shook her head. "No. I already lost one member of my family on this one. I am...grateful not to lose another."

"But I could have warned him."

"And the result would have been the same." He could hear the heaviness of her grief in her voice, but also her certainty. "Don't blame yourself, dear. I am simply grateful that you are alive and unharmed, in spite of Matthias's best efforts."

He nodded, accepting her forgiveness, but that led him to something else he needed to say. "You should have stayed in Washington. You were safer there."

"I shall make you a deal, Mister Callen," she said. "If you refrain from attempting such a ridiculous argument with me of all people, I shall not call out your hypocrisy." She pinned him with a look. "Or would you rather I enumerate all the times you have walked into a situation just as dangerous for the sake of what must be done? The lengths to which you have gone to protect someone?"

He opened his mouth to argue that it was different, that he did it for cases and national security, not because he was overly protective...and the words died on his tongue.

Okay, she had a good point.

"Right," he said, and he sipped his tea.

Hetty leaned back in the chair. "I understand you offered a reward to anyone who could bring in Matthias. That was a very foolhardy decision, and could have placed you at great risk."

"I'm not sorry for doing it," he said, though he was a little sorry that she knew about it. Not that he reasonably could have kept her from finding out one way or another, but still. "We needed to locate him."

"Someday, Mister Callen, that desperation is going to cause you to make a misstep. Possibly a fatal one."

"Maybe," he acknowledged. "But not this time."

He stared into his mug of tea for a moment. Now that the adrenaline was gone, now that Matthias was locked up — and he still might kill the bastard — and Hetty was safe, even looking at his actions over the last few days in the light of retrospect, he couldn't regret any of it. He'd have done the same for Sam or Kensi or Deeks or Nell or Eric or Nate.

(Probably not Granger, not unless Hetty asked him to. But then he'd be doing it for Hetty anyway, so that wouldn't count.)

Well, if he were honest with himself, he might not have pulled his entire life savings for anyone else just because he might have opted to leave some cash in case it was needed to help them in other ways later or something. To empty every single stash wouldn't have been his first move with anyone else. But if it were needed, if it were the only move to make to help them, then he'd have given up every dollar without another thought.

Hetty had already done the same thing herself, of course, for Kensi in Afghanistan. Which was part of what got her into trouble in Washington in the first place.

Well, at least he had precedent for it.

G couldn't decide if he wanted to ask her about Washington, about the hearing, about how exactly she got out of it, or if he just didn't want to know. If it was going to come back to bite them later, he'd need to know eventually.

Maybe he'd leave it for another day.

Or, as Hetty regularly reminded him, he'd leave that worry to his enemies and focus on what was right in front of him now.

He stretched his legs and started telling his body that it was okay to relax again. They were both safe, and he was going to keep them safe. He could sense Hetty doing something similar in the other chair.

If he was having trouble letting go after this had hit so close to home, he couldn't imagine how she was feeling. She'd have to give up Dovecote and Briar Patch and the others, now. Would have to bury Duke. Would have to go back into hiding a little, just in case.

That must hurt, he realized. Hetty was a master at tradecraft, had lived for so long and so comfortably before being compromised in this way. Not only was this a blow to her homes and to Duke, but to her pride.

To say nothing of actually forcing her to reveal a little more of herself to the others.

If that part didn't bother Hetty, it certainly bothered Callen. He liked their little world of just the two of them, the secrets they kept from the others. It was a game, and it was home, and it was familiar, and it was family.

Damn Matthias anyway.

But right now, maybe just having her back in LA, back where he knew she was safe, back where he could watch over her — and she would be there to watch over him, too — maybe that was enough.

He tipped his head towards her. "By the way."

"Hmm?"

"How come you never told me about the secret passage in Dovecote?"

She smiled. "A girl's got to keep some secrets, Mister Callen."

He chuckled, knowing that had more significance than ever today. "Even from me?"

"Call it an old habit." Then she glared at him over her glasses. "And do _not_ take that as an invitation to search the rest of my homes for them."

"Oh, you can't even stop me now." He grinned. "I'm going over every one of those places with a fine-toothed comb." Then he paused. "You know, I didn't even think about it until right now, but...you didn't give Nell the information on the rest of the houses. Just five or six."

"The main ones, yes. Even Miss Jones doesn't need to know every piece of property I own in a hundred mile radius, _unlike_ certain nosy agents I could name."

G let out a breath and finally felt that everything was going to be all right again. Even if some of Hetty's life had been made known to the others, there were still things which only he, and, okay, maybe his cousins, _maybe_ , would ever really know about her. And that was how it should be.

But, still. He had to tease her anyway. She was home. He'd missed it.

And he was also still trying to keep her from circling back to the fact that he would soon be investigating all those properties until he knew every secret passage and door and trick he'd missed before.

So he pretended to shake his head at her, tutting. "Secrets again?"

Hetty saluted him with her mug, eyes knowing. She probably knew every thought in his mind right now, and that, more than anything else, proved to him that they were back where they belonged.

"Always, Mister Callen. Always."


	5. S6E5: Black Budget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the episode where Callen and Sam end up in Mexico chasing the one survivor of an office shooting who turns out to be in league with the bad guys, and they try to defend a house populated with women who are way too interested in landing themselves an American boyfriend. I love that Granger plays the white knight in this one, and those sassy girls!
> 
> Enjoy!

This time the bag on her desk was bright pink, with flowing text in Spanish. The red flower on the package had been altered to have a smiley face in the middle of it.

Hetty picked it up, noting the heft of the bag.

"Hibiscus tea," she said.

Unerringly Callen appeared from the side. " _Agua de Jamaica_ as they say in Mexico," he said. "The girls were very firm that I buy only this brand. They said the rest taste like they were made with packets of Kool-Aid."

Hetty smiled. "I'm surprised you had the time to discuss tea given your adventures."

"Well." He squirmed for an instant. "We traded phones around a couple of times…"

"And they got your number." She shook her head at his sheepish expression. "Rather a rookie mistake. Assuming it was a mistake at all."

" _Definitely_ a mistake," he said. "I've been getting texts almost every hour since we left."

"They owe you their lives, and a lot more, I imagine."

Callen blinked. He knew Sam hadn't said anything about the money they'd left behind. And Granger had sworn his report would read the same. How did Hetty…?

"Because I know you, Mister Callen," she answered before he could even ask. "And I also know how to read bank statements."

Before he could become alarmed, she raised a hand.

"Not to worry. Owen made it very clear that the missing cash _could_ have been lost before you even entered the country. No one is going to trouble those women."

"Good. Especially since they gave me the recommendation for your tea."

"Thank them for me the next time you get a text, please."

A moment later, G's phone pinged.

"After you have expressed my gratitude, however," she added, "please get Eric to do something to reroute those messages. The sooner the better."

Callen looked at the message without allowing her to see it, and his face went bright red, redder than the flower on the bag sitting upon Hetty's desk.

"I'll go talk to him right now."

Hetty waited until he was out of earshot to laugh.


	6. S6E6: SEAL Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> I am back and, hopefully, will be consistent about updating going forward except when planned to skip a week. We have the rest of season 6 and all of season 7 to finish, after all!
> 
> I hope all of you are being safe right now. Take excellent and gentle care of yourselves and one another, okay?
> 
> Enjoy!

All the joking aside, there was an undercurrent in Callen that was still very, very angry.

His partner had been wrongly accused, arrested, lost in the system by a pair of conniving, selfish paper-pushers, and all for a man who didn't have the courage of a snail. There were only a few things that had made the whole experience bearable.

First, of course, was the fact that Sam simply hadn't done it, and no amount of DNA evidence could have changed his mind. Nor, it seemed, the minds of the rest of the team. Their staunch loyalty, even in the face of such facts, had mollified him considerably.

Second was Granger, as much as that surprised him. But Granger had watched Sam's back for the whole case, had been two steps ahead of Callen in finding and retrieving him, and hadn't doubted either — when he wasn't exactly known for his overall willingness to stand by the team. It had felt a little bit like he was being schooled, since Granger reveled in showing Callen up and he knew it, but that was a small price to pay for the assistance he gave Sam.

The third thing, though, was the fact that Hetty let him work the case in the first place.

"Confined to my desk," was what he had said, and she had nodded. But that nod wasn't agreement to his words — rather, she had silently, and without giving anything away to anyone, endorsed his actual plan.

He hadn't needed to tell her that the sea would turn to jelly before he'd just sit around and wait while Sam was in trouble. He hadn't needed to ask her to look the other way as he bent and broke rules while also not compromising the investigation in any meaningful way — just in case they needed their evidence to hold up in court without charges of being a rogue agent. He hadn't needed to warn her that he was stepping outside the lines without losing control and ask that she trust him.

All of that had been communicated in a single glance. And while they both said the correct and proper and legal things out loud, they both had known that nothing of the sort was what either really meant.

If there were no other reason — and there were so many other reasons — Hetty would have Callen's eternal loyalty and trust for just that.

As they cleared out of the office, waiting in the fresh air while Hetty supervised the burning of Deeks's awful vegetable, Callen looked at Granger a little more appreciatively.

He still didn't exactly like the man — but he respected him a little more. Anyone who would go so far for Sam was worth that much.

Granger gave him a measuring look back, and Callen could see the amusement and also the censure in the expression. The Assistant Director knew exactly what Callen had done, and why, and though he wasn't going to cause trouble about it, they both knew he'd be within his rights to punish G for his actions.

Then Hetty emerged from the office, still chastising Deeks over that stench, and looked up at both of them.

Callen wasn't quite sure what she communicated to Granger, but it made him roll his eyes and look away.

Her smile for him, though, and her wry, smug amusement, told him everything he needed to know.


	7. S6E7: Leipei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has almost nothing to do with the episode. Truly. It was inspired by one of those blink-and-you-miss-it conversations between Sam and Callen, barely even a recurring joke. But it got me thinking, so it got Callen thinking.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a week after the drone case when Hetty texted Callen just before midnight.

All it said was, "Really?"

He was awake, of course, and he started to laugh the instant he saw it. With every day that went by, he'd been waiting more and more eagerly. The idea had come from his discussion about robots and drones with Sam, and the fact that he'd pulled it off this long was almost a miracle. Which made it all the more enjoyable, of course.

"Something wrong?" he sent back.

The response was immediate: a picture of a tiny white disc bumping around in Hetty's master bathroom.

It had gotten itself partially behind the toilet, and looked like it was about a moment away from knocking over the towel rack. There was something scrawled across the top of it which wasn't legible in the picture.

Callen grinned as he typed a response. "Looks like you got yourself a pet!"

He could almost feel her exasperation in her reply, which was, of course, the point. "A Roomba is not a pet. And why on earth is it in here?"

"Well," he typed very carefully and slowly just to make her wait, "they're programmed to clean the floors and carpets on a single level. It probably cleaned the other rooms and found the door open."

"WHY is it HERE?"

_Oh, I am in such trouble and it was so worth it._ "That house is all one level. Seems an efficient solution. I know you hate vacuuming."

"And why, precisely, is it named 'Grumpy?'"

_So much trouble_. "They all needed names. It's not nice just to call it 'vacuum puck thing.'"

There was an ominous pause before the next text.

"Are you telling me there are SIX MORE of these things in my houses?"

"Your floors have never been cleaner," he replied.

Ten minutes went by without any kind of response. At last, one more text arrived.

"While I deeply appreciate your dedication to housekeeping, know that two can play at this game. And when I imitate the role of the powerful wicked queen, you will not enjoy the apple I feed you. In the meantime, I fully expect you to come over tomorrow for dinner and teach me how to program it — the idiotic thing keeps getting stuck in a corner."

The next day, G made a point of stopping at the other houses to check on the other Roombas before dinnertime, just to see if any of the others had gotten stuck. He discovered that she had beat him to them and had carefully renamed most of them.

Happy had become Nuisance.

Doc had become Incorrigible.

Sneezy had become Juvenile.

Sleepy had become Troublesome.

Bashful had become Ridiculous.

But Dopey was still Dopey and, upon arriving for dinner, he was greeted by an unchanged Grumpy as well.

It took G no time at all to realize that she had deliberately changed them all to refer to himself. It took him _days_ to stop giggling about it.


	8. S6E8: The Grey Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to get this one up a little late! I hope you're all staying safe!
> 
> Enjoy!

"That's the thing about the Grey Man. He never reveals his secrets."

He drew in a deep breath. He could hear what she didn't say this time.

But Callen looked up and decided to put it into words anyway. "Then it's a good thing I'm not a Grey Man anymore, isn't it?"

"Yes." And her smile was warm and fond. "Yes, it is, Mister Callen. I think we can both agree that we are better for leaving our Grey days behind us."

That steadied him, the reminder that he was not entirely alone in this legacy of silence and detachment. And if Hetty could transform from the Greyest agent ever to work for the Company into what she had become, then he could, too.

He could keep these friends that had become his family. He could build a future, whereas Goodsell had been trapped in an empty past.

"Thanks, Hetty."

"Any time," she returned. "Now, you look like a man who could use an evening out in the world, enjoying that which you work so hard to protect."

He huffed a laugh. "A night on the town? Only if you're offering to keep me company."

"I think we could both use a relaxing evening. And there's a new restaurant I've been dying to try. Apparently its dulce de leche is a dream."

G stood up, always surprised and grateful that Hetty could pull him out of himself so easily and lead him back to thoughts that were neither so heavy nor so lonely.

"Works for me." As he fell into step with her, he paused. "Oh, but speaking of food."

"Yes?"

"You couldn't have just _said_ Granger was heading to the 6400 block of Hollywood Boulevard today?"

Hetty raised an eyebrow. "I believe I did."

"No." Callen smirked. "You told us a story about Claude Rains and froyo." He frowned. "And I'm all for tween-speak, but I think that's going a little far. It sounds like something you use to clean up after a dog, not a food."

Hetty regarded him over the frames of her glasses. "Was there a point in there somewhere, Mister Callen?"

"Oh. Right. So...why the song and dance about Granger when you clearly knew exactly where he was and who he was meeting?"

She smiled. "When a hunter is hunting, how do you sneak up on him?"

"Get in his blind spot." He shook his head. "So…?"

"Owen was trying to keep his end of this case very much under the radar. I can respect that." She tipped her head. "We all play our games, after all."

"You more than most." Callen ducked his head, acknowledging and amused.

"Just so. And should this case have gone differently, it's entirely possible that Owen and I would both need plausible deniability. By not giving you anything but a few movie anecdotes and a half of a riddle, I could answer honestly that all I did was have a casual conversation with a few agents. If you took inspiration from my suggestion…" She shrugged.

Callen's eyes narrowed. "That's not even _remotely_ what happened."

"Perhaps. But it's the version of the truth we might have needed if events had gone otherwise."

"If the CIA or the DEA or whoever had decided to pitch a fit?"

"Something like that."

"You'd think they'd learn eventually." He held the door for her on their way out of the building. "Messing with Hetty Lange never ends well for people's careers or their health."

"You make it sound far worse than it is, Mister Callen."

G was smiling. "No, I don't make it sound _nearly_ as bad as it is. I can name at least ten agents who would give up their immortal souls to undo whatever they did to you."

"And I can name many more than that who would say the same about you, Mister Callen."

As they walked to where their cars were parked, G pulled out his phone. "Should I call the restaurant ahead? Warn them about not getting your order wrong before we add to your tally? I'm sure the wait-staff would appreciate a heads-up before you come down on them like a ton of bricks."

"Do it and _you'll_ be the next on my list." And her expression was affronted, but her eyes were laughing.

And deep down, they both knew the dark and cold truth which was so easy to laugh about. They both knew that they had indeed ruined lives, and not just those on the other side of the game. They had both, in their time, done the very worst for the sake of a mission, for the sake of national security, for the sake of the bigger picture.

It was something they could joke about now precisely _because_ it was in the past, never to be returned. They had both given up the Grey life for one with a great deal more color.


	9. S6E9: Traitor

Hetty waited until she was absolutely certain Owen was asleep beyond waking, aided by the many drugs still swimming in his system, of course, before she raised her voice to the hallway.

"A candy striper, Mister Callen?"

His head popped into the room, disarming smile at the ready. "Excuse me. I am a nursing assistant."

She smiled. "If the scrubs fit…"

"They kinda don't," he said, edging into the room. "There's a whole waistband thing going on here that I don't understand."

She saw his relaxed body language, but also saw how he positioned himself relative to the doorway and the window to the nurses' station. He was not as amped up now as he had been after rescuing Eric from the mole, but his heightened sense of protectiveness had yet to retreat.

"I shall be sure to add some designer scrubs to our wardrobe department just for you," Hetty said. Then she looked at him over her glasses. "May I ask what you are doing here?"

His shrug was all too casual. "Just keeping watch."

"How is our Mister Beale?"

"Soaking up every bit of attention he can get from Nell." Callen shook his head. "I thought Kensi and Deeks were bad, but the Wonder Twins...which, if they're going the way they seem to be going, is a little creepy since twins are siblings and they definitely aren't."

Hetty held up a hand. She knew that babble for what it was — and what it wasn't. It was no intentional blind; he was rarely so clumsy. It was a signal. A worry he didn't want to voice, so he gave her others to fill the silence.

"Owen will be fine, Mister Callen."

"Of course he will be. He's too stubborn to die like this."

"Yes." She smiled. "He is."

"And he wouldn't give us the satisfaction."

"If there is one thing I know about Owen, it is that he will spite God himself before he will surrender so easily." She tipped her head. "No matter how difficult, Owen always rises above circumstances to find his way."

Callen frowned. "Don't turn this around on me."

"Did I mention you, Mister Callen?"

"Not yet." He raised an eyebrow. "But in about ten seconds, I figure you're going to make this into some kind of lesson about how the fact that we had a mole the whole time and didn't know, about how he killed members of my staff, about how he almost killed Eric...somehow you're going to make it sound like it isn't my fault."

"Because it isn't."

"See? There. You did it." He snarled. "It's _not_ that easy. Granger could be _dead_. Two people _are_ dead. _Eric_ could be dead. That mole...he could have…"

"I know." And she felt her own grief and guilt leak into her words. "I know. But we cannot live holding onto what has been. We can only go forward."

"What's forward from here?" he asked, anger building up in his face and the set of his shoulders. "We don't even know who was behind it, or why. We don't know how far the rabbit hole goes."

"And we won't find out tonight," Hetty said. "Tonight, we can only be grateful that we have brought light to the first obstacle, and prepare to tackle the next another time."

He looked away and she made a sharp gesture with her head, wordlessly demanding his attention.

"We have been betrayed, Mister Callen, yes. But we are not defeated. And for as long as we continue to fight, we never shall be."

She watched him let out a breath and nod. "Right."

"Now." She leaned back in her chair. "I know that events such as these make you return to your bulldog ways and give you ideas about trying to protect us all in our sleep while you take none for yourself."

He opened his mouth to object and she glared him into silence once more.

"I know you, Mister Callen. And while there is little I can do about your habitual need to guard us all, I can do this much. Go home. Or at least go elsewhere. That's an order."

He blinked.

"Tonight, I will stand guard over Owen. That is my right as his oldest friend...and sometimes enemy. You will allow me this. Even if you go and watch over Sam, or Mister Beale, you will leave Owen to me. After all, you're not the only one stinging from the betrayal within our ranks."

She watched him consider that, and finally nod. "Okay. If you're sure…"

Hetty smiled. With a gesture almost too quick for the eye to track, her hidden derringer pistol was in her hand from where it had been secreted in her sleeve by her arm rig.

"I'm sure. Now, I will stand guard for Owen. You, Mister Callen, get what rest you can. Because tomorrow and the days to come will be more dangerous still than today has been." She met his eyes and held them. "I need you sharp, I need you rested, and I need you ready."

And he looked back, unflinchingly. "I will be," he vowed.


	10. S6E10: Reign Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about missing last week. Unexpected work chaos. Gotta love having a new job and learning not just the new company and everything they do, but the languages of everyone there! Anyway, this one came from a throwaway line in the middle. It's obvious that Hetty listens a lot more closely to the comms than anyone gives her credit for.
> 
> Enjoy!

The following morning, Callen found a note tucked in his file of half-completed paperwork. That in itself wasn't at all unusual — Sam had a habit of leaving indicators like that when G had left something out or had fudged the details too much to reconcile with everybody else's reports. Sometimes Deeks did it just to add commentary or point out where he hadn't gotten enough credit for some move he thought was particularly badass. Kensi was the only one who didn't regularly invade his files.

But this note was in Hetty's handwriting.

"You were half-correct."

Well, that wasn't a helpful comment. Half correct about what? When? Something in this case file or something else entirely?

Not at all coincidentally, Hetty called a meeting of the rest of the team, but requested that he stay behind to continue his paperwork. He shrugged off the teasing, instead trying to catch her eye for some kind of hint as to what on earth she was getting at.

Hetty gave him a beatific smile and a wave — and nothing else to go on.

"Fine," he sighed to himself when the bullpen was clear. "I guess I'm on my own."

Working steadily, Callen went over every single word in his report twice, checking them against the evidence, the logged interviews, even the recordings of the comms. Once he was absolutely certain that her note couldn't _possibly_ be referring to anything that had happened specific to the case, then he backtracked through the other stuff — emails and texts from the duration of the case but which weren't related to it. But unless Hetty meant for him to include some of Eric's whining about lunch options, that wasn't it, either.

It was nearly mid-afternoon, his team hadn't come back, and he was getting annoyed.

But he kept searching. Hetty left him a clue deliberately, and he was going to hunt it down.

Finally, as he glanced over the transcripts from one of his conversations with Sam — logged because they'd been on comms but not relevant to the investigation — he spotted it.

" _No one ever pushed me. People push you when they care._ "

He threw himself backwards in his chair, sighing.

"Should have known."

Then he laughed.

When he submitted his paperwork half an hour later, one of the most complete write-ups he'd ever done, he stuck a note on top just for Hetty.

"Point taken. Thank you for the push."


	11. S6E11: Humbug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the episode in which Joelle finds out about Callen's true identity, and ends with her going ice skating with the team and the Hanna family. I felt bad that Hetty didn't get her moment to shine on the ice, so I gave her this.
> 
> Enjoy!

Although Sam was going to be spending the holidays with Michelle's family, that didn't mean there wasn't the now-traditional Christmas dinner at the Hanna home attended by Callen and Hetty. Gifts were exchanged, and the presence of Aiden only added to the celebratory air.

And if there was some light teasing about why exactly Callen had attended without his girlfriend who now was in on their secret lives, it was meant fondly and with warmth.

Later, as Sam went to do a quick round of dishes while Michelle refereed for Kamran and Aiden in a game of wrapping paper basketball, Hetty drew Callen aside.

"You could have invited her," she said.

"She had her own family get-together," he said. Then he glanced at her. "And there's a few things I'd rather keep to myself for a while yet."

She smiled, understanding. Callen was close to this girlfriend, liked her more than he might be willing to admit, but he was still an intensely private person whose first instinct was self-preservation.

And self-preservation, when it came to Callen's heart, always included Hetty, too.

"But I'm sorry you didn't get to come skating with us," he added after a moment.

"It's been a very long time since I was last skating," Hetty said. "I fear I would have been somewhat less graceful and somewhat more bruised."

"Not from what I've seen."

She blinked at him.

Callen reached behind him and drew a slim present from between the cushions of the nearest couch. With some flair, he handed it to her.

"Merry Christmas, Hetty."

She shook her head but accepted it, seeing the eager light in his eyes that was more akin to Kamran than any grown person. She could feel through the paper that it was a picture frame.

Unwrapping it carefully, she felt a gasp of wonder escape her.

"I...I didn't know such a picture existed anywhere."

"I know." Callen was grinning like a child. "I figured I should help fill the gap in your collection."

Hetty brushed her fingers across the glass, staring at the image.

On the left was Peggy Fleming, immortalized forever in the perfect grace of a layback.

On the right, Hetty herself was spinning beside her.

"All those movie stars on the wall in the office," Callen said, "but you never talk about her."

"Peggy...is very special to me." Hetty smiled at the picture, and would have denied to her dying breath that there were tears in her eyes. "She showed the world that strength not only _could_ be beautiful, but that it is not true strength without it."

"She's not the only graceful one in that picture," he said.

"Well." Hetty's smile went even softer. "She was also a fantastic teacher."

"So are you, Hetty."

Hetty wrapped her hands around the frame and held it close. "Merry Christmas, my boy. And thank you."


	12. S6E12: Spiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those episodes that takes an unexpected turn in the middle. Opening with Callen undercover in an office building, the building gets invaded by terrorists with a secret goal of acquiring a virus from a nearby lab. Callen makes a friend and tries to keep her safe, only to find out that she is part of the group behind the attack and she leaves him exposed to a horrifying disease. Callen seals the room he's in and sends the rest of his team to handle the chase while he slowly succumbs to the disease. At the end of the episode, the whole team is standing outside with Hetty watching him being loaded onto a gurney.
> 
> There's NO WAY Hetty didn't talk to him before then, though.
> 
> Enjoy!

His chest was burning, and his tongue tasted like he'd been licking a Turkish urinal. He'd managed to get himself to a chair, and then, probably stupidly, to drag it near to the glass door where he could see what was happening.

The hazmat team had gathered outside and were suiting up. They had already spoken to him through the door, getting symptoms and assessing his level of awareness while they scrambled. But they hadn't rushed in yet, and he knew why — the whole area was contaminated. It was too great of a risk to open the door until they could secure everything from the rooms outside the lab to the vents and air ducts so that not a single particle of Spiral could escape.

It was time he might not be able to spare, but it was time which would save lives, and he couldn't begrudge them that.

However, at the sight of a familiar face, even made strange behind a hazmat suit and mask, he recoiled.

"No," and he found the strength to say it loudly. "No, you get out of here."

Hetty Lange placed a double-gloved hand on the barrier between them.

"Are you all right?" she demanded.

"No. I don't want you here." He made himself open his eyes all the way, forcing himself from the half-lidded exhaustion that dragged at every atom of his body. "Please."

She closed her own eyes for a moment. "I am safe for now, Mister Callen. I give you my word, I will not allow myself or any of our team to be exposed. If...if this is your last choice, I won't let it be in vain."

He gulped, swallowing blood, and nodded.

"But you will not deny me this chance to speak to you."

He laughed, and blood dribbled down his lips. "Read any good books lately?"

Hetty flinched, and he could see paleness in her cheeks and fear in her eyes where he would have given anything to keep either from ever reaching her. "None that you would appreciate, I fear. Your taste in literature has never run to the classics."

"Too...too much like Oliver Twist to like it much," he said.

"No, you're more the Artful Dodger than Oliver, but even that scarcely fits." And maybe he imagined it, but he probably didn't, that there was almost a sob in her voice, only barely concealed from all but the one who knew best how to hear it. "If anything, you were Scout, now grown up to become Atticus Finch. Bold, wise, noble, honorable. Willing to stand...against the world...in defense of what is right and...in defense of those…"

"Hetty." In an uncoordinated lunge, he pushed off his chair and leaned against the door, pressing his hand to hers on the other side. "Don't cry. Please."

Her face was a ruin of emotion for once, concealed from all others only by the hood of the hazmat suit. "Then _you_ must fight, Mister Callen. We'll get you out of there. We'll do _anything_ it takes. But you _must not_ give up."

The pain in his chest and the burning in his lungs was nothing to the roar of raw feeling that her broken words ignited in him.

"I...I won't. Hetty. I promise. I…"

The world was swirling around him. His vision was blurry to the point of darkness, and he sagged against the door.

"If it is the last thing I do, Mister Callen, I choose to trust in you. Now, fight, my boy. Fight for your life. Fight...please."

He tried to answer. He meant to. He wasn't sure if the words made it past the strangeness in his head and the bursting pain everywhere else.

But he hoped she could hear it.

_I won't let you down._

That promise carried him into oblivion — and through it.


	13. S6E13: In the Line of Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was inspired just by a throwaway line in the middle of the episode unrelated to the plot. Callen refers to their team with unusual affection while chatting with Sam – but they're on comms at the time, so one assumes Hetty overheard. I decided not just to let it go.
> 
> Enjoy!

Callen was enjoying sitting in his chair in his own house when the text arrived.

"Slightly dysfunctional family?"

He smiled. "Which part bothers you? Since I know it's not the family part," he typed back.

He could feel Hetty shaking her head at him from all the way across town.

"There is nothing dysfunctional about this family," she sent.

Callen laughed. "I bet Nate would disagree."

There was a pause.

"Nate recognizes that this family is unconventional, but it is exactly what it needs to be. Supportive and loyal."

G debated whether or not Hetty had literally just poked Nate, probably waking him up from wherever he was in the world, to ask. Ultimately, he decided she probably hadn't, but only because it was likely a conversation they'd had recently.

"Is Nate really qualified to offer an opinion? Isn't that a conflict of interest?" he asked.

Her response this time was rapid and sharp.

"I hardly think you and I have any standing to accuse anyone else in this family of conflict of interest."

"Fair enough." After sending that, he typed, "So, since obviously you're the matriarch, does that make me the next head of the family? Firstborn heir and all that?"

The pause this time was long, and he had ample time to think about whether that was too much, whether he'd gone too far.

About whether what he'd said in jest was out of line because it was dangerously true.

About if maybe he should just think some more before texting.

His phone dinged with Hetty's answer.

"Well spotted indeed."

G felt warm for the rest of the night.


	14. S6E14: Black Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pair of simple ones tonight. I figured if Callen and Sam were going to spend this whole episode undercover in a food truck arguing about burgers, I might as well do something with it!
> 
> Thanks!

"That is _not_ tea."

Callen looked up from his laptop, grinning at where Hetty was staring at her desk. His attention drew her own, and she pinned him with a glare from across the room.

"Mister Callen, a word."

He shuffled to his feet and made his way over, trying not to give the game away all at once.

"Something wrong, Hetty?"

"Yes." She gestured. "What, precisely, is _that_?"

"Well." He made a show of examining it. "It looks like a veggie burger."

"I can _see_ that, Mister Callen. Now, why is it on my desk?"

He blinked owlishly at her. "You expect me to know?"

"Yes." Her expression was grave. "I do."

"Oh." He shrugged. "Well, I learned a lot about them from Sam while we were in that food truck, so I thought I'd give it a try and see what you think."

She sighed. "I fear I'm going to regret this."

"What?" He couldn't keep the wide grin from his expression. "You know I can cook. You taught me."

"I'm aware. I also know the limitations of your skills."

"Oh, come on. If I can do _duck l'orange_ , I can definitely make one veggie burger."

"The skills do not necessarily translate," she said. But she sighed and sank into her chair. "Very well."

Callen had no idea how Hetty could be so prim about eating a burger even with her hands, but she was. He tried not to hover, but he couldn't stop himself from leaning over eagerly.

Hetty took a delicate bite. Paused. Chewed slowly. Swallowed. Cleared her throat.

"Do I sense Tabasco, Mister Callen?"

"It was a real hit in Mexico."

Her brow went dark. "You do know that I _despise_ Tabasco."

He hadn't, actually. "Uh, no?"

Hetty sighed. "That will be all, Mister Callen. Thank you for your efforts." She offered the plate to him.

"Was it really that bad?" he asked, torn between amusement and embarrassment.

"No. I am certain Mister Beale will quite enjoy it."

He brightened, both because he had someone to give his food to, and because she had given him the perfect opportunity.

"Good idea. Thanks, Hetty!"

He ran off towards the stairs.

"Not in Ops!" she yelled after him.

He pretended not to hear her, cackling to himself as he broke her rules and delivered the burger to their resident geek.

Who was then stuck running for his life from Hetty when she caught him with food in Ops, of course, but enjoyed every minute of the burger when he finally had a chance to eat it. Callen counted that as a win all around.


	15. S6E15: Forest for the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because apparently Swedish nachos were a recurring theme in this episode...

Hetty was surprised to see Callen calling her at home on a night when she knew that he had been planning to surprise Joelle for dinner.

"Mister Callen?"

"Hetty, is there a _reason_ that Deeks thinks he's supposed to be here teaching me to make his Swedish nachos tonight?"

She didn't chuckle, but it was a near thing. "I'm not sure why you think I would be aware of your or Mister Deeks's extracurricular plans."

The pause meant he was connecting dots, and if she'd been able to see him in person, she would have been able to watch the afrontedness bloom on his face.

"You sicced him on me!"

There was a muffled sound in the background.

"Just talking to Hetty!" he yelled. "Back in a minute!"

"You sound very busy," she said. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your evening off."

"Hetty!" He very nearly whined at her. "Why is Deeks here teaching me to cook that awful cross-cultural abomination?"

She smiled. "Perhaps he wished to share his culinary...perspective."

"This is payback for the burger in Ops, isn't it?"

"If it's taken you this long to figure out such a simple fact, I'm going to have to question your observational skills and attention to the consequences of your actions," she said.

He growled. "That's low, Hetty, using Deeks to get back at me."

"Just enjoy your evening with your teammate. Perhaps you can learn from one another."

"What, how to get food poisoning from tortilla chips?"

She laughed. "I'm certain you can find a good use of the time and of the information Mister Deeks is there to provide. And I am also certain that I taught you better manners than to spend all your time on the phone when you have a guest in your house. So I suggest you enjoy your evening."

His aggrieved sigh was cut off by more noise from Deeks in the background.

"Good night, Hetty."

"Good night, Mister Callen."

Three hours later, he sent her a text.

"I did find a way to get rid of the meatballs."

The picture along with the text showed a very happy Gouda with a bowl full of meatballs, half gone, gravy all over his whiskers.

Somehow, Hetty wasn't surprised to learn that the only living being who could stomach Deeks's Swedish nachos, other than Deeks himself and, apparently, Owen Granger, was Callen's adopted alley cat.


	16. S6E16: Expiration Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the second Thapa episode which opens with Sam being shot by a sniper and ends with a confrontation in a hospital that sees Thapa killed in a hallway bloodbath all over a list of rogue agents. And I kind of hate this episode because I love the character of Thapa and I'm annoyed they killed him off. But, more importantly, there is a HUGE plothole in this episode. Absolutely huge. So I fixed it.
> 
> This one and the next one are kind of a two-parter of my own, and the show just nicely gave me the opportunity to do it.
> 
> Enjoy!

"We need to stop meeting like this, Mister Callen."

She watched him let out a breath, ducking his head slightly. In the dark room, Sam asleep while the monitors beeped, she could still make out his tense expression.

"Not my fault we both seem to have an unhealthy interest in hospitals," he said.

"Hmm." She moved forward until she could stand beside his chair. "I see you've filed for some time off."

"Well, my partner's going to be in rehab for a couple of months. I figure it's a good time to take a break."

"And it has nothing to do with the list of rogue agents Ella provided us?"

Dim light or not, the low, controlled rage was clearly visible in his eyes. A sliver of madness, cold, calculating, implacable.

Tellingly, he didn't answer.

She sighed. "You know that no agency of the United States will ever give you authorization to hunt down a cabal of foreign agents in cold blood, Mister Callen."

"Good thing I'm not asking for authorization, then."

Hetty closed her eyes, pained. "We are not in the business of revenge."

"I call it justice."

She shook her head.

"Hetty." He looked up at her, the burning rage contained for a moment. "They shot my _partner_. They killed Thapa. Not to mention two detectives and nine people in this hospital, _including_ the doctor who saved Sam's life. Someone has to pay for that."

"But it's not up to you to dole out the punishment."

"It is," he said, low and even, "when they also have the location of our offices."

Hetty froze. "The tracker."

"You gave Thapa authorization to be in the office, but they put the tracker on him hours before," Callen said. "Even if they haven't already sold the info, they will. We can't let that happen." He sucked in a heavy breath. " _I_ can't let that happen. Not again. Hetty...I can't."

She rested a hand on his shoulder. "I _cannot_ endorse this, Mister Callen."

"I don't need you to endorse it. I just need you not to stop me."

"You do realize that they're not on American soil. If I permit you to go, it will be a true Black Op. I can't send you any backup, any support. And if you are caught…"

"I know." He reached up and pressed his hand to hers, squeezing tightly. "But I have to do this. For Sam, for Thapa. For all of us."

Hetty sighed, trapped by the cold reality. "Officially, then, I grant you your temporary leave of absence and we never had this conversation. And, if necessary, I will officially deny you were ever my agent."

He nodded and moved to release her hand. Hetty, quick as a striking snake, caught his fingers and held them in a grip of steel.

"But know that if you fail, I will do whatever is necessary, Mister Callen. After all, I still owe you a debt for Prague." She tried to say it lightly, but he heard all the weight of truth anyway.

"And I owe you a debt for everything else." He shut his eyes, just barely leaning against her arm at his side. "I'll be fine. And I'll be back before Sam even knows I was gone."

"You know you can never tell him. Nor the others. They must all have total plausible deniability, especially if I need to send them after you." She paused. "And if all goes well, then they will never know the sacrifice you will have made for all of their sakes."

"We'll just add that to the list of things we hope they never find out about, then." He swallowed. "Thank you, Hetty. For not stopping me."

"I will watch over Sam in your absence, just as you would. As I would watch over you were your positions reversed." She shifted slightly, as if to draw closer, perhaps even put an arm around him, but held back from such familiarity. She could see in the set of his shoulders that he was already distancing himself emotionally in order to accomplish this mission which was necessary and deplorable.

"Yeah, but Sam would never do what I'm about to do," and there was only a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"And that, Mister Callen, is why you and I are what we are, and do what we do. So no one else has to. That is the price, and the burden, of leadership." Her eyes trailed over to Sam's still form. "At times like this, I regret that you walk the same shadowy paths as myself."

"I don't regret it," he said. And he sat up fully, dropping her hand and replacing his heart in his voice with marble and ice, his secret gentleness with a diamond-sharp edge. "Not for a minute Hetty. Not when it's going to keep us all safe."

She could have called him back, but knew better. He needed the armor of emotional control to endure the task he had set himself. So she stepped away and nodded, giving him both physical and metaphorical space to leave.

"Then keep yourself safe in return, Mister Callen. No matter the cost. Do what you must, and return to us. Or I'll send this team after you and damn the consequences."

He rose from the chair and faced her squarely. "Understood."

And without another word, he was out the door.


	17. S6E17: Savoir Faire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the second part from the previous. This episode has a constant set of banter between Sam and Callen about how they have nothing in common. Callen keeps pressing Sam to find something they can share, and Sam keeps pointing out there's just nothing. In the last scene, Hetty saves the day. In the context of how I patched the plot hole in the last episode, this exchange is more important than ever.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Monet!"

Callen knew he was staring at her when Hetty came up with that non sequitur yelled across the office. And he continued staring all through her explanation.

Until he realized what she was actually telling him.

With Sam back in the field after his injury, it was as if nothing had changed. Except that something _had_ changed, though Sam didn't know it. After all, no one knew about Callen's trip abroad in the early weeks of Sam's recovery. No one, except Hetty, knew about the new blood he had on his hands, shed to safeguard the office and in recompense for Sam and Thapa.

When Sam had pointed out that he and G didn't have much in common at all, loathe as he was to admit it, it had stung.

Because Sam wasn't the one who turned from agent to assassin for those five weeks, not to save a life, not under orders, but for sheer, calculated, pragmatic revenge.

Also to protect the location of the office. But when he was honest with himself, G knew it was far more about the revenge.

Sam was the bravest and most honorable person G knew — and being reminded that they were different poked at a much deeper wound, one Sam probably didn't even know was there. It was a stark reminder that, no matter what G Callen did or who he became, he would always be a spy first, a killer, perhaps even a monster. And Sam was a warrior.

But Hetty knew the wound was there. She, as she knew him so well, knew this, too. He realized she must have been listening very closely indeed to this first case back, ensuring that their partnership was not damaged by the new secret Callen had to keep from his closest friend and brother.

She had overheard his attempts to find common ground with Sam, when he needed it more than ever — when he needed to be sure that he wasn't all monster, that he still fit in the circle with Sam's nobility.

Which, if he was fair — which he wasn't right now, but if he were _forcing_ himself to consider it fairly — was not actually an accurate assessment at all. Sam was a killer, too. Sam had taken lives, sometimes without orders, sometimes in cold blood. Sam was, by any empirical measure, not that different from Callen himself.

However, G saw himself in shadow, and Sam in light. Just as he was the pessimist and Sam the optimist. Just as he was street smarts and Sam was book smarts.

They were opposites in most things, and in this one as well.

But, today, he didn't want to enjoy their differences that made them stronger together. Today he wanted to be similar. Today he didn't want to be shadow. He wanted to stand equal with Sam; even if his partner never, ever found out about his illicit mission, he wanted to let himself believe that Sam would have backed him up.

And Hetty, frighteningly all-knowing, decided to prove that he would.

The paintings of Monet weren't the most compelling evidence, of course, and G wasn't thrilled with her description of them as "dainty."

But he heard the point she needed him to hear anyway.

_You are different from Sam, but you are not alien to one another._

_You share an appreciation for art, but, more than that, you share an appreciation for life. For beauty._

_What binds you cannot be quantified by hobbies or interests. It resides somewhere far more dear, and far less obvious._

_Your partner would understand what you have done. He would have gone with you himself._

_Stop trying to validate what you share, and simply share it._

And, as usual, by saying so little, Hetty told him exactly what he needed, and he could close the day with a lighter heart.

Which also reminded him — Sam wasn't the only one he had, the only one who knew his heart.

Hetty was more shadowed, like himself, and if she could be all that she was and _still_ be like him as well…

Yeah, G was going to be fine.


	18. S6E18: Fighting Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a day late. Life in Minneapolis is stressful these days.
> 
> This is the episode where Hetty tells Kensi and Deeks that the LAPD is beginning to investigate Deeks, but that they should continue as normal until they make a move.
> 
> Enjoy!

After Kensi and Deeks were gone, Callen emerged from his hiding spot and made his way to Hetty's office.

"So, what's the plan?"

She shook her head at him. "It largely depends upon what the LAPD believes requires their attention."

He sat across from her. "You mean even you don't know what the IA investigators have on him?"

"Unfortunately, no. And I don't expect to be able to unravel their secrets until it may be too late."

Callen sighed. "This could get really ugly."

Hetty nodded. "Yes."

"But we're going to do something about it." He leaned forward. "If they come after Deeks, we're going to handle it. Right?"

"Mister Callen." She met his eyes. "Have I _ever_ given you the impression that I wouldn't do my very best for any one of my people?"

"Of course not."

"Then." She settled more comfortably in her chair. "Continue to trust that I will guard our Mister Deeks as I would you. Whatever the LAPD thinks they know, or intends to do, they won't do it without our knowledge. And, should it be required, we will be there."

"Because Deeks is one of ours."

Hetty raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me that, or telling me?"

Callen smiled. "Telling. But you already know that."

"Yes, I do. In fact, I knew it before you did."

He smirked. "As usual."

Hetty smiled. "Indeed. But it is...gratifying to know that you know it as well."

Callen shifted in his chair. His expression went playful, hiding the seriousness beneath. "Well, he's part of our team. And Kensi would take us apart if we left him to the wolves. Did you know he didn't realize we already knew about them being together?"

"To be fair, you and I have known about them before there was much in the way of a 'them,'" Hetty pointed out.

"Do you know if Granger knows?"

"Not for certain. But, regardless, that is something else I will watch for. I'm not about to lose two of my best agents, not to the LAPD investigation and not to some sensible but irrelevant regulations." Hetty made a tiny quirk of a smile. "As you well know, some regulations simply don't apply under the right circumstances."

Callen grinned. "No, I wouldn't know _anything_ at all about that."

Hetty nodded. "Precisely. Now, leave the LAPD to me. You just continue to lead your team as you always have."

"Even though two thirds of my agents are dating? And that's not saying anything about Eric and Nell."

"Well." She shrugged. "Thankfully, you are well-equipped to handle such complications."

"Yeah, because I have such a _helpful_ dating history of my own," he snarked.

"No," and her eyes were steady. "Because you know how to balance loyalty with effectiveness. How to demand emotional distance without quashing interpersonal relationships. Believe me, Mister Callen. You are fully capable of managing this, from all sides."

"And if not?"

"Then that's why I'm here."

G nodded. "Thanks, Hetty." He rose to go. "For all of it."

"Good night, Mister Callen."

"Good night."


	19. S6E19: Blaze of Glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the episode with the hacker kid and his girlfriend who turns out to be a terrorist and the fight culminates in a puppet theater. And then everybody has ice cream in the puppet theater for some reason. It was not an easy one to write for!
> 
> Enjoy!

Callen noticed that his ice cream was a little separate from the others, and that Hetty very deliberately ensured that he received that particular glass. If it had been anyone else handing him the ice cream, he would have been cautious and suspicious; because it was Hetty, he was merely curious and suspicious.

Upon taking his first bite, he understood why. It had been flavored with mint.

And a quick inspection with his spoon revealed that they were actual mint leaves, crushed up, not the fake syrup stuff he'd had in his drive-thru milkshake earlier in the day.

He shook his head. Leave it to Hetty to be paying that close attention.

And he would never, ever admit it to Sam, but the real thing tasted a lot better than what came in a paper cup.

Callen caught Hetty's eyes on him and he grinned, saluting her with the ice cream.

She smiled back, giving him a nod before she returned to her discussion with Granger of the many photos on the wall.

It was the kind of little details like that which really set Hetty apart. Who else would listen to every word of an operation, even the boring ones, and remember all the meaningless details of hours of banter? And who else would do anything about it?

Even if it was just to make a subtle point about healthy eating?

Callen would never truly understand the depths of that woman.

Was it any wonder he would follow her into hell?

"Hey, Hetty!" Deeks yelled from the other end of the room. "Is there any chance we could get you to dress up like one of these puppets and sneak into Sam's house on Halloween?"

"Deeks, I'mma kill you where you stand, I swear," Sam warned.

Hetty just raised an eyebrow.

Callen sighed. In the time it took to cross the room, he had figured out an appropriate retribution for Deeks and his weird sense of humor.

Some days he didn't have to follow Hetty into hell — he just had to be her sword.

Or, in the case of Deeks, maybe something more like a pair of scissors.

And it turned out that Deeks had the right shaped head for that particular hat with the big purple feather and the clump of sequins. The pictures made for _spectacular_ payback.


	20. S6E20: Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all – sorry about the delay. And especially before one of the most pivotal episodes in the relationship between Hetty and Callen!
> 
> This is the one that set canon on its side, establishing that their connection went back much farther than previously shown. This is the origin of Callen's knowledge of Hetty's homes, of their training as well as schooling together, of the dozens of hints and facts that suddenly make a lot more sense. "Rage" is the episode that made me have to write this whole series – because they have such history, and I needed to show its edges!
> 
> So here we go. Enjoy!

Hetty knew, when she sent Sam to that fateful spot of the first milestone in her journey with G Callen, that it would end with that boy sneaking into her house once again. Korean barbeque or not, he wouldn't stay away. Not tonight.

He did not disappoint.

She was waiting for him in the kitchen of one of her older homes, the kind which had never been renovated and whose cupboards showed the wear of their years. He slipped in the door from the garden, blinking in the bright lights that lit up the room in its golden colors.

"You didn't come to dinner," he said, slipping his shoes off.

Hetty smiled from the table. "I thought perhaps you might like some time to decompress with your team." She peered more closely at him. "Sit."

He blinked, but obeyed.

After she set the stove to heat the kettle, she drew a small first aid kit from a drawer and carried it to the table. "It seems you had a rather difficult day."

"Hetty…" he began.

"No, no." She caught his chin and turned his face to the light, examining the bruising around his eye. "You will let me do this."

He twitched in her grip. "I did take a shower. Nobody likes being drenched in gasoline."

"And I appreciate that you aren't a walking fire hazard, but a shower is not sufficient for what is needed."

With careful hands, she cleaned the cut on the bridge of his nose and disinfected it. She also examined his scalp for other wounds than the obvious one on his forehead, bandaging only the worst of the lot.

"Shirt," she said when she was finished with his head.

He sighed but pulled his shirt up over his head, wincing where he had apparently taken a vicious kick to one shoulder. Hetty could read the violence of the day in the mottled bruising on his skin, the clear impressions of fists and feet littering his body.

She sighed, too, and gently cleaned and bandaged the blows which had broken through enough to bleed.

"Ribs?" she asked.

"Fine."

"Hmm." She pushed his arms out of her way and expertly examined his ribcage herself. "I don't know what is in your bones, Mister Callen," she said as she felt around, "but it is made of very stern stuff. Most people would have at least one full break after such treatment."

"Just lucky, I guess."

"Yes, you are." She pulled back and tipped her head at him. "Anything else?"

"Nope. It really wasn't that bad. Not even in my top twenty-five beat-downs." He made a cocky smile.

She shook her head. The kettle started to whistle, which provided her with an opportunity to turn away. "There is an ice pack in the freezer for that one bruise if you need it."

Callen pulled his shirt back over his head. "No, thanks."

While Hetty poured the hot water, she asked in a deliberately casual tone, "So, I take it Mister Hanna has some new insight about us which, I hope, he knows well not to share?"

"Yeah. I figured...you wouldn't have sent him after me if you didn't want him to know."

"It isn't about him knowing or not knowing," she said, turning around. "It is about what you might have needed from a friend in a difficult moment."

"So...you let me tell Sam a secret we've been keeping for years...because you thought I might need a shoulder to cry on?"

She smiled. "Something like that."

But he shook his head. "Sam is great. He's my best friend, my partner, my brother. But...he's not who I needed to talk to tonight."

"I guessed as much when I heard your step at the back door." She was teasing him, gently, of course, but also providing him with space for levity. She knew, with so much practice, that sometimes her boy needed that space in order to face himself with honesty.

Again, he did not disappoint.

"When he found me, I was sitting there, staring at that stupid pole. And I was thinking about why it was different for me. Why I was the one lucky enough to have the mom I did, which meant you finding your way to me. Why I wasn't just like Charlie, with nobody."

She watched him, the emotions chasing each other across his face. He was so very expressive, so easy to read, when he allowed himself to truly feel. It was part of what made him a good agent, when he could use honesty where no amount of acting would suffice.

It was also what made him a good person.

"I told Sam that everything I am...is because of you, Hetty."

She smiled, letting him see the warmth his words brought to her heart. "Not everything, Mister Callen. Without my help, you may have ended on a different path, but there is no doubt in my mind that the man I am speaking with now would have emerged from whatever path you took. I gave you a chance, but you have always made your own choices."

"No." He shook his head. "I was an angry, scared, lost kid. I knew how to fight and how to protect myself, but not how to protect others — or why. I knew how to talk back to authority, but not how to respect it."

"There are those I'm not sure would agree that you've ever learned that," she said wryly.

He chuckled. "Maybe not. But loyalty? Selflessness? Dedication to something greater than myself? I learned those from you."

"Oh, Mister Callen." Suddenly taken with emotion, she busied herself at the counter again, pulling out the tea leaves from their cups and adding a bit of honey instead of sugar.

"Hetty."

He stepped up behind her, and she could feel his emotions in the very air.

She turned around, and she let her face reflect what she was feeling. "Whatever gifts I was able to give to you, you have repaid a hundred times over, my boy. Whatever small lessons I could impart, you have long since improved upon. It...has been my honor, and my very great privilege, to be your family all these years."

He nodded, and his eyes were too bright.

"I just...I need to be sure you really know. What you did for me. What you...what you mean to me. Without you, I wouldn't…" He cleared his throat. "You gave me _life_ , Hetty. As much...as much as my mother did. And you've kept on doing it...ever since I was fifteen."

She reached out and G immediately bent down, dropping to one knee before her as if swearing fealty — which, truly, he had done long before, and they both knew it.

Hetty ran her fingers over his head again, not looking for hurts, but in benediction. She finally rested the flat of her hand on his cheek.

"I loved every child who was ever put in my care. I love all my agents still. The trials of our profession can divide some people from one another, but they can also draw us closer — as they have with our team. Few people in our line of work agree, but I have often found that agents who have become family are the most successful. Though they can be compromised, they are far more likely to do the impossible for one another. Out of that same love."

There was the slightest wobble in G's jaw, but he held still.

"Of course I know what is in your heart, dear. Of course I do. You have done the impossible for me many times."

"And you for me," he managed in a voice that rasped.

"And so I trust that you know," and her own voice caught, "what you mean to me as well."

His smile cracked a little bit. "Does that mean I'm your favorite?"

Hetty huffed a laugh that was dangerously close to tears. "You ridiculous boy." And she put her arms around him.

He held her tightly. "Thank you for saving me," he whispered.

"Always," she whispered back. "Always."


	21. S6E21: Beacon

On the way out the door, G glanced at Hetty. "So…"

"Yes, Mister Callen?"

"Just...one question."

She sighed but continued moving. "Ask it before I leave you talking to yourself in the parking lot."

He smiled. "When exactly are you going to teach us how to scare the crap out of people the way you did with Arkady today?"

"You have intimidated your fair share of suspects," she said.

"Yeah, but it's not the same. Is it the pantsuit? Maybe the cravat?"

Hetty shook her head and he could see her absolute refusal to show amusement. "Perhaps it is that my threats are _extremely_ credible."

"What, and mine aren't?"

"Arkady knows you are, in some respects, his friend. I, on the other hand, would dropkick him off the Santa Monica Pier if he gave me good cause."

Callen shook his head. "No, I don't think it's just that. I think you do some kind of Jedi mind trick thing on bad guys...and on kinda bad guys. And they just start shaking in their shoes when you walk in."

"Well, if that's so, then you will need more than a pantsuit to replicate it." Finally she cracked a half-smile in his direction. "And, speaking as one who is thoroughly familiar with your wardrobe, I don't think it's a look you should cultivate."

"Hmm." He huffed a laugh. "So I guess I'll focus on being scary and intense and leave all the guys too tough for me to crack to you."

"As it should be," she said. "After all, I can't leave you all the fun, now can I?"

"I guess not."


	22. S6E22: Field of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a day late, all! Tonight we have a weird one-off; regardless of the plot of the episode, Deeks spends his time getting excited about joining a Big Brother program and getting a kid who is just like him (surfing, tacos, etc) – only for the kid to be swapped out at the end for someone interested in 3D chess and German opera. It was so random, I had to play with it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Callen didn't make reference to Deeks talking about "The Magic Flute" with his newly-assigned little brother on accident, and he had to immediately leave before he gave away the joke after uttering the words. Hetty, he knew, wouldn't crack in any way Deeks could read.

But he had to get out before Hetty killed him for the reminder.

Callen had been twenty years old, spending a week off at one of Hetty's places in Europe between classes at The Company. He'd thought to surprise her with tickets to the opera, to show her how much he appreciated everything she'd done for him. However, he'd chosen "The Magic Flute," and he hadn't told her in advance what opera they would be attending.

Once Hetty saw the name on the theater's sign, she had actually shuddered. But all she would say was, "Time for you to learn about why you must always do your research in advance of any operation, no matter how casual"

Callen had quickly learned why Hetty hated it so much.

"It's not just the allegory to the struggle between the Roman Catholic Church and the Order of Freemasonry that could not be more obvious if they tried, though that is aggravating in itself. Boys with their toys trying to split the world in two with their secret clubs," she'd said at intermission.

No, it was the misogyny and racism. Callen was pretty sure he sprained his eyeballs rolling them at the references to the Queen of the Night "usurping the power of men." And Hetty was nearly vibrating with the power of her disgust.

In the end, they gave the shortest applause possible and fled the opera as soon as they could escape their seats.

Callen had apologized by buying her a late supper.

"I wish that Queen of the Night had kicked all their butts," he'd said. "No wonder she was mad, having to deal with all those guys. Did Mozart ever meet a real woman, or did he just hang out with a bunch of eighteenth century frat boys?"

Hetty had laughed. "I am very glad to know that you are a more enlightened man than Mozart when it comes to gender and capability."

"Duh. I hang out with you."

"And I suppose this means you will be better about making assumptions prior to gaining proper intelligence."

" _Definitely_."

Afterwards, it had turned into something of an in-joke. One of their many, many references known only to themselves.

But this time, Callen had planted it for a different reason.

Hetty frowned at his retreating back and turned back to Deeks, who was still staring forlornly at his newly matched 'little brother.'

"A word of advice, Mister Deeks."

"Anything."

"Keep the boy away from 'The Magic Flute' if you have any respect for modern cultural and societal values. And if you ever hum so much as a single bar of it in my presence, well...I will set your ears to bleeding."

Deeks looked utterly stricken.

Hetty gave him a little nod. "Enjoy your evening, Mister Deeks."

She wasn't even surprised to find that Callen beat her home that night and left a little drawing of a flute in her mailbox.


	23. S6E23: Kolcheck, A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here begins a 3 episode arc that leads the team to Russia and ends with Episode 1 of Season 7 where Callen has gone completely and totally rogue for all the wrong reasons. But this is where it begins.
> 
> Enjoy!

Callen was just finishing picking through the last weapons locker in the armory when he stopped. Tensed.

"Damn it."

"So, what, may I ask, is your brilliant plan, Agent Callen?" Hetty's voice was even, if dangerously unamused.

"You heard what Arkady said." He closed the locker and turned to face her. "They have his daughter Anna. And they have eighty million dollars worth of oil to sell. We can't just sit here and hope the Russian authorities figure it out on their own."

Hetty took a few more steps into the room. "So. Your plan, then, is to...go AWOL? Launch a mission in Russian territory without authorization?"

Callen swallowed, but he didn't flinch. "If that's what it takes."

She frowned. "Is this because of the connection to Arkady, or to your father?"

"A woman's life is in danger, and that oil could mean World War Three depending on who buys it," he said, anger making his words biting. "It's not about Arkady and it's not about me. It's about that."

She studied him carefully, then nodded. "Very well." And headed to her personal locker, opening the cage with a quick code.

"Hetty?" Callen set down the gear he had been packing and moved to her side. "What are you doing?"

She scoffed at him. "What does it look like I'm doing? Stocking up on vegetables?"

He watched her pull out her arm rig, her custom ankle-holster, and a few pieces of jewelry he had no idea what they did.

"Hetty, you're not coming with me to Moscow."

"You are wrong on both counts, Mister Callen," she said, expertly checking her weaponry piece by piece. "I _am_ , in fact, coming with you to Moscow, and _you_ are not going alone."

She turned and pinned him with a glare.

"Officially, this will be an unsanctioned operation. The Navy cannot publically participate in the level of espionage this task requires. Unofficially, however, this is going to take the full team. Assistant Director Granger has received permission for all of us to go. Well," and she crinkled a touch of a smile, "our team and ourselves, that is. Mister Beale and Miss Jones will remain here to support us from Ops."

"It's too dangerous," he said before he could help himself. "Not just this operation. I know for a fact you're wanted in Russia. If they catch you…"

"They won't."

"Hetty…"

"Enough." She held up a hand and met his eyes. "Like it or not, Mister Callen, I am coming with you. Among other things, I don't trust Arkady as far as I could throw him. He will need a constant watcher — and that person will be me. That will leave you free to lead your team and do your jobs."

"But…"

"I am aware of the risks, Mister Callen. And they are not just to myself — you have a fine reputation yourself with some members of the former KGB. We will _all_ have to be at the top of our game."

She snapped the arm rig out once, its speed quicker than the eye could track.

"Which is why I am going to give you an order right now, and if you cannot accept it, I will do whatever is necessary to keep you from joining the mission in the first place. Including tranquilizing you right here and now and leaving you locked in the armory for a week."

G blinked at her. "You wouldn't."

"Of course I would," she said, looking at him like he was an idiot. "It's my job to do what I must to ensure the safety of my agents. By any means. You would do well to remember that."

He drew in a breath. "So, what's the order?"

"If I give you the command to 'walk away' — from _anything —_ you must do so. Without question, without hesitation. And when the time comes to leave Moscow and return home, you will do so, no matter what or who that means we leave behind us. I will say the same to the others as well, but you are the one who _must_ give me your solemn word to obey the order if I give it."

"Are you worried I'll let things get personal?"

"Frankly, yes." She was facing him now, and he realized there was something in each of her hands, and her arms were loose at her sides. It was a similar stance to when Kensi was about to hurl a throwing knife with deadly accuracy.

G realized her threat was absolutely not idle.

"Now. Your _word_ , Mister Callen. Unbreakable, sworn on whatever you hold most dear. If I give you the order to walk away, and when I say we are returning to the United States, you _will_ do as I say. Promise me."

He closed his eyes and ducked his head. It ached to promise such a thing, knowing especially that the chances were good she would use this promise against him when he would most desperately not want to obey those exact orders. It made something feel cold in his gut.

But not going with them at all was far, far worse.

"I promise you, Hetty. I give you my word."

She regarded him for another moment before nodding.

"Very well."


	24. S6E24: Chernoff, K

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry once again for the delay. I'm trying to get myself to a place where I won't miss a week unintentionally for the rest of this cycle. If all goes well, I should wrap on this series in October, since I'm only doing through season 7 for now.
> 
> This is the close of season 6, in which Anna is rescued in Russia and Callen finds out about the bar where his father met people to get them out of the country – and that he is dead. Hetty's response here is all about setting up episode 1 of season 7, in which Callen goes EPICALLY off the rails. So here we go.
> 
> Enjoy!

After she watched him leave the church, Hetty made a decision to give Callen his silence for a while.

She did contact Sam, of course, to tell him where his partner was headed and why. She asked Sam to keep an eye on him, and to ensure he remembered the pickup that night for their ride home.

But otherwise, she kept her distance. With tidings like those she had carried, she thought he deserved some time with his own thoughts and feelings, after all.

Hetty would have gladly given much in her power to change the outcome, to find Nikita Reznikov alive in some way, perhaps operating under another name, hidden from his enemies but not so hidden that he couldn't be reached by his long-lost son. Part of the reason she had asked Eric to stand down in his search was because she didn't know what the outcome would be, and she couldn't ask him to deliver such news to Callen, such heartbreaking truths. If there had been any way at all of finding Callen's father, she had wanted to be able to do that for him. And if he was gone — as it turned out — then she wanted him to hear it from no one but herself.

Hetty felt she owed Callen that much at the very, very least.

Her heart was awash in a cold pain for him, for that icy, vulnerable fragility in his eyes when he learned his father was dead. So many times she had been the one to tell people that their family members were dead and, if anything, doing so got harder with repetition. Harder still when the survivor was one of her team, her family, and the dead man was dead before Callen had even really known he was alive.

Anything else, and she would have chosen to be his support, to offer comfort. Anyone else in his life but this.

But, just as with his sister, Hetty had learned that G Callen needed privacy and space and silence and the weightlessness of no one's attention when he dealt with the griefs in his deepest soul. Even the tragic losses of Dom and Mike Renko, had pulled them together. But this was somewhere no light reached inside of Callen's chest, and Hetty knew that made it a place where she would do better not to tread.

Not necessarily because she was unwelcome. More because she was everywhere else.

It was not dissimilar from the struggles two of her agents were having now that they had entered into a romantic relationship (at last). To work together the way they did engendered a deep closeness, a reliance on one another, an inherent and unbreakable trust, and a strong degree of emotional intimacy. To add the weights of friends and family to that was another level, another set of inner walls and barriers and compartmentalizations breached.

Kensi and Deeks had thrown all boundaries asunder to create their relationship, and Hetty was fine with that.

But she knew she was already deeply embedded in Callen's history, his thinking, his choices, and every facet of his heart. So she must withhold this last distance — the place for his biological family — to keep him safe and to grant him respite.

If she compromised this final holdout, this one part of his soul which she had not already touched, he would never have anything just of himself to choose to keep or give away. It would all be hers.

And as much as she loved him — and she _did —_ she could not be his everything. No matter what he said about it.

One day, G Callen would face a world in which Hetty Lange was gone. That was the inevitability of age and time. (There was the _possibility_ of him losing his life to duty before such happened, of course, but Hetty would march into Hell itself and turn it inside out before she would ever let _that_ come to pass.) Like any parent, Hetty's final duty to all her agents, all her children, was to ensure that they were prepared to survive her eventual exit from their lives.

And so she gave him silence. She was there for him, but she gave him space. She cared about him, but she let him leave her sight and go his own way. She had drawn this one line, and she held it.

But she did sit beside him on the flight out of Moscow, letting him pretend to sleep and not disturbing him. And when he finally tired of the ruse, she pulled out a tablet and offered him a quiet game of chess.

There was still something broken in his eyes, and something worse she didn't like crawling at the edge of his expression. His grief was too controlled, too well hidden. That usually meant it would find its way out later, and in spectacular and dramatic fashion.

However, by then they would be home. And she would again be able to act.

He offered her a small, almost helpless smile, and moved his first pawn.

Hetty responded and let the game speak for them both. Just as they could communicate perfectly well in codes and references and secrets, they could both speak in allegories and metaphors just as readily. She could read his feelings in his moves, his thoughts in his scattered strategy. She could also see him gathering himself, shoring up for each step before him as he would before a difficult op.

But when Callen took her queen early, almost recklessly, she winced internally. She had hoped very much that they were playing a game of chess together — not playing _against_ one another. Because the latter scenario portended badly for the days to come.

Whatever the fallout from all this, she feared it would be ugly indeed.


End file.
